


A Bard Surprise

by eccentrick



Series: A bard, a witcher, and a three-headed horse [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cerberhorse, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Humor, Jaskier | Dandelion is Like a Disney Princess, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Noble, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, prompt: adopting a pet, that's a tag? don't mind if I do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eccentrick/pseuds/eccentrick
Summary: Prompt: Adopting a pet.Trudging down the road, only half paying attention, Jaskier almost misses the fork in the road. The cord he's plucking ends abruptly, out of tune. He's been down this path before on his travels to and from Oxenfurt as a child and preteen, and there's never been another path here.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A bard, a witcher, and a three-headed horse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049201
Comments: 8
Kudos: 123
Collections: General Manager at the Wendy’s in Fairbanks, Just.... So cute..., Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	A Bard Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first part of my Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo prompt series featuring a bard, a witcher and a three-headed horse (and eventually, Roach.) This is based off a glitch I had while playing Witcher 3, and the art herostag on tumblr drew of it (go check it out I based Cerberhorse off of their design!)
> 
> This is very silly and will probably get more silly. I appreciate comments and kudos a ton so please let me know if you liked it and give herostag's art a reblog because they deserve it!!!

Life is a strange thing. It takes and it gives and it destroys without cause nor law. What is a bounty to a peasant is an insult to a lord, and what death takes it gives back in lush greens and rich earth. 

Reality is much of the same. 

That is why when the beings walk forth through an unfamiliar forest they do not stop, their hooves echoing in the heavy mist. They're following a light, a tug in their skin, and for the first time in their life they agree on something. 

They have someone to find.

\--

When Julian finally becomes Jaskier, it is a relief. He might have been stripped of everything but the clothes on his back, the boots on his feet, and the worn lute in his arms, but he feels light for what feels like the first time. 

He practices his scales as he walks, ignoring his leaky left boot soaked through by the puddle he stumbled through in his distraction; you'd think he'd learn to pay more attention to his surroundings, but he figures that a wet boot and a soggy sock are little problems in the grand scheme of things. He's too high on the freedom to give complaint, excitement thrumming through him just as surely as he strums his lute. 

Julian would have complained at the discomfort. He was used to getting his way, at having any one of the peasants that served his lord father too willing to give the shoes off their worn feet, barely anything but cloth wrapped in thin leather. Julian's brother had done something similar and Julian had laughed along with Julio when the peasants had rushed to appease them. Julian was naive to the point of cruelty. 

But no more! Jaskier is going to be worldly, sing songs of the gripes of man and the heroics of...heroes. There will be no room for luxury on the road of a traveling bard, especially not the blindness of naivety and privilege. 

Trudging down the road, only half paying attention, Jaskier almost misses the fork in the road. The cord he's plucking ends abruptly, out of tune. He's been down this path before on his travels to and from Oxenfurt as a child and preteen, and there's never been another path here. 

A foreboding feeling creeps up his neck. Taking his few bits of self preservation and rubbing them together, he takes a hesitant step to the original road, but stops mid-stride. Something feels...off. Peculiar. 

Jaskier is no longer Julian. Jaskier is a bard, and what do bards do? They follow the strange and foreboding, because that's where the best stories lie. Turning on his heel, he begins down the mysterious road. The breeze is still and silent, but the trees still creak. Birds do not dare warble. 

His steps make loud scuffs against the dirt road, echoing through the quiet. He thinks that if he lives to tell this tale, he'll sing that his breath began to frost in the early summer afternoon, despite the creepy forest not defying any natural laws. But it feels like _something_ should be happening to bely the eerie tension in the still air. 

Jaskier's feet carry him to a small grove of trees. Not one leaf rustles. And what Jaskier sees turns his stomach. 

Within the clearing, bodies littered the ground. Limbs twisted, their blood soaking the green grass beneath them. The bodies were of military men not of his father, their armor once shiny, now covered in grime and red. And, like the center of a storm, stood a man, and a horse. 

Or, what can perhaps be called a horse; it stands tall, and has four hooves and a tail, its coat a collage of whites and browns and blacks. It has the shape of a horse, with one big difference. Where one neck starts, three heads sprout.

The one on the left is pure white with a soft pink nose, its mane blonde. It's the type of mount a fair knight would ride into battle against a terrible dragon holding a princess captive. Its ears prick up. 

In the middle is a soft brown, one that can be found commonly throughout the continent. It reminds Jaskier of his favorite childhood horse, disregarded by Julio because of its plain coat. 

The last, though, is the most otherworldly. Face black as night, it becomes lighter the closer it gets to where the heads join, a soft gray. The dark highlights red eyes, a feature all of them share, on closer inspection.

His father would have had it killed in an instant. Jaskier even feels a bit wary himself, unsure if the slaughter was caused by the man or the being…horse? 

But, scrutinizing the bloody sword still cradled in the man's hand answers that for him. His white hair is streaked pink with blood, but his posture is calm. He reaches for the brown head slowly, gently, afraid of spooking the creature. The black head snorts and chortles, knocking the brown one away from the man's outstretched palm. The white one is still, ears still pricked, seemingly looking straight at Jaskier through the foliage. 

Jaskier can hear the man talking in the quiet tones. "Don't worry, I won't be asking for coin." The man gives an amused sigh. "Perhaps I'll invoke the Law of Surprise, hmm? Give that which you do not know." 

Jaskier must gasp because the man's head jerks in the bard's direction. He stands at full attention, sword no longer loose in his hand, but ready for another attack.

It was at this time that Jaskier takes a step forward, so overcome by fear _and_ the poetic gentleness of the brute, he trips. Over what, he'll never know. He falls face over ass, and in his attempt to stop his descent, gives himself enough momentum to roll down the smallest of inclines created by the tree roots. He yelps and groans the entire time, until he's splayed on his back at the feet of the man, midsection ready for gutting. 

The white head of the horse snorts as if to laugh and they take the few steps between them and Jaskier. Within seconds Jaskier has three horses -- or at least their heads -- in his personal space. The black one lips at Jaskier's hair, wetting the strains with spit. The white one nuzzles at his hand, as if expecting treats. And finally, the brown one places their nose on Jaskier's chest, like they're trying to rouse the bard from sleep, or make sure his heart still beats in his chest.

And then, in unison, their heads lift and they look straight at the other man. He stares down at Jaskier with dread.

"Fuck." 

**Author's Note:**

> Main blog: ecccentrick  
> Writing sideblog: eccentrick-ramblings


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